Outside of the glass-covered ballroom was a patio of sorts, lined with a marble railing and several giant pots of flower-hedges unique to the Avalon Archipelago of Lemuria, those magenta flowers that were embroidered over Kiana’s dress. The tides were filled with little blue stars that were not reflections of the ones above—no, it was a unique phenomenon found in the waters of Lemuria.

Sorrel stumbled out onto this patio, holding onto Coppelius’s arm for dear life.

“Are you alright?” He helped her sit down on the railing.

“Yeah, I just have to get these shoes off.” Sorrel swung her legs up onto the railing and pushed aside the white petal-like top layers of her skirt and the black organza under-layers to get at the straps of the black dancing shoes.

“I’m sorry, they must not have fit right.” Coppelius removed his mask. “Do you need help?”

“No, no, I’ve got it.” At that, Sorrel had finally undone the lace on the left foot. Relief bloomed down her ankle and where the edges of the shoe had pushed into her skin, leaving angry red marks behind. She made work of the right shoe far more quickly, now that she’d figured out the trick. While she was in the business of removing uncomfortable items, she decided to match Coppelius and ditch her mask as well.

           The sea breeze blew a little more fiercely on this side of the Governor’s mansion, enough to cover most sounds coming from inside. The wind was also somewhat of a relief after the suffocating heat of the ballroom. And there was something to be said about a better view of the fireworks from out here.

She glanced out at the sea a moment as Coppelius leaned over the side.

“It’s a lovely night.”

“It certainly is.” He wasn’t looking at the view, but rather directly at her.

When she met his gaze, however, he quickly looked away. He fiddled with the signet ring.

“Tell me, how have you been enjoying the party?”

“I love it, the food is so good, and the dancing was just like on Bonfire Night, but there were so many more people and—“ Sorrel cut herself off with a smile. “It was just a wonderful night, thank you.”

She reached for his hand. It was almost worrying, how comfortably and casually she was slipping her hand into his like this. “Do you do things like this often?”

“Nothing like the Seaborn Festival, of course.” He grinned and gently squeezed her hand. “But doing things like this—an immortal life isn’t one worth living, without nights like this.”

He peered out at the water again. He could change so quickly, Sorrel noticed, between mischief and solemnity.

“It’s nights like these that we’ll feel human.”

He then straightened. “Do you want to go back and have another dance?”

Sorrel shook her head. “I’d like to stay out here, if you don’t mind. But you can go back in if you want to.”

He instead hopped up on the railing beside her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The wolf led Gwynn onto the dance floor with all of the grace of a nobleman, or someone upper-class, anyway. Someone who would know all of the fancy dances that the people dancing with the Governor and her cohort would, at least. She’d simply have to follow his lead. After all, what would an innkeeper’s daughter from the Border Worlds know of such things?

Still, she had to admit that she was thrilled that such a thing was happening to her of all people!

The musicians paused for a little longer, as the dancers shuffled into the crowd and vice-versa. Even Kiana Albion had finally vanished into the crowd. Far fewer dancers now stood in the center of the ballroom, leaving Gwynn feeling exposed.

“Don’t be nervous,” the wolf murmured. “I’ll guide you.”

Gwynn nodded and bit her lip, not trusting herself to speak.

Then the orchestra began again. This song was slower, with more tension in the strings. A waltz, perhaps, but one with an edge that left goosebumps on Gwynn’s pale skin. Beautiful, of course, but a far cry from the previous fast-paced joyous melodies that had filled the ballroom just before.

The wolf stayed true to his word. With a gentle yet firm grip on her hand and her waist, he guided her across the ballroom in the spins and footwork of a more elaborate dance, one that Gwynn wasn’t entirely sure she knew the name of.

“Have you danced before?” The wolf asked as he guided her into a spin under his arm.

“Only when I was little,” Gwynn answered. “My sister and I took lessons at a ballet troupe’s studio not far from home.”

Madame Ciaravola, she remembered the name was. She’d been a student at the Aggripina Ballet School, one of the best in the system. With striking red hair, a more coppery color than the darker auburn-adjacent of Sorrel’s, she commanded attention on the stage. She’d originally come from Perrault, and had formed her troupe in attempt to bring more attention to the stories and culture of their tiny Border World by bringing their stories to life.

“We didn’t last long in those, though,” Gwynn assured the wolf as they came back together. “My sister, she was too impatient, she could never keep still or listen for very long.”

“And what about you?”

“Oh, well, I didn’t want to do it without my sister.” Gwynn could feel her cheeks heating up again. “We were inseparable then. I wouldn’t have thought of it.”

The wolf said nothing, merely nodding to indicate that he was listening.

“Besides, it wouldn’t have lasted long anyway,” she added. “I doubt we really had enough money to keep doing it forever.”

“I see.” The wolf had her on the back-foot, stepping back in time to the music before another spin, the two of them interlocked. “Where is your sister, then?”

“Oh, we’re not really together anymore.” Gwynn’s throat went dry. “She. . . she had her own journey to go on. One I couldn’t really follow.”

He then pulled back, and it was him moving back to the music.

“Have we met before, sir?” Gwynn could no longer push back the nagging doubts in her mind. She had thought it to be nervousness or anxiety about being in the center of the ballroom like this. But there was something else to it, too. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“I’m no sir,” he laughed. “I’d rather you never called me that again.”

“Right.” Gwynn bit her lip again.

“You shouldn’t do that,” the wolf chided. “I’d hate for a pretty girl such as yourself to get hurt.”

“You haven’t answered my question.” Her voice dropped, cold as the snows she had left behind.

“I haven’t,” he agreed, and he lifted his arm again for her to spin under. “But I had hoped to avoid the unpleasantness for at least another song.”

“The unpleasantness?” Gwynn’s mind was whirring as she faced him again, her hand in his, the other on her waist. A chill went down her spine. “Versailles!”
           He pulled her into a dip, and his grin seemed all the more wolfish as he looked down at her. “I’ve been looking for you, Gwyneira.”